


Of Ghosts and Wolves

by Marked_by_moonlight



Series: Season Eight Fix It Fics [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Army, BAMF Women, Badass Arya, Badass Sansa Stark, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Ghosts, Jon Snow is a Stark, No Dany Bashing, R Plus L Equals J, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Season/Series 08, Wolf Pack, Women Being Awesome, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 09:36:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19060012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marked_by_moonlight/pseuds/Marked_by_moonlight
Summary: In which the Crypt Scene in 8x03 goes far differently than anyone expects. Mainly because Jon was partly right. Their father's ghost had come back to haunt them.





	1. Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones. If I did, Season Eight wouldn't have been such a trash fire.
> 
> Also, you should know. I stopped watching the show forever ago, and am just picking up the important bits. 
> 
> This is a two shot, and I am working on The North Remembers as well. Hopefully the new chapter'll be up soon.

Sansa paces restlessly in the crypts. Her skirts gather round her feet and all she can think of is the Battle of Blackwater. It was so long ago now, but she remembers her thoughts as clear as water.

If I am ever a Queen, I will make them love me.

Tyrion takes another swig of his wineskin and Varys snorts.

“Do you reckon the dead will rise up and kill us all in here?” mutters Tyrion

Sansa shakes her head. “They won’t.” she says.

“And how do you know that?” asks Missandei

“Because the bones of my family have been buried with their swords for eight thousand years. Their bones will rest beneath the stone.” 

Sansa raises her chin defiantly, daring the other woman to correct her.

“You Northfolk are a strange lot.” says Varys

Sansa just hums to herself. 

Scarcely an hour had passed when they heard the screaming. One of the soldiers was banging on the old ironwood door. 

Then the eerie silence grew stronger. She could feel the magic in the air.

*

Sansa finds herself looking at her Aunt’s statue. The woman wasn’t buried with a sword, at least outwardly. 

She whirls when she hears the other’s startled gasps from behind her. Her skirts flare out behind her, and Sansa feels a little foolish, as though she is a child caught under her father’s stern gaze.

Her eyes alight on a man who can only be her Father, and her knees buckle. 

“How?” gasps Sansa

“I am not truly here sweetling. I am merely a ghost. The others should wake soon.” The ghost of Ned Stark grins, and she is reminded of Jon’s direwolf.

Of sharp teeth and fur splattered red.

“The old tales were only partly true, dear one.” said Ned, “Our swords were to keep our bodies in place. Our spirits are another matter entirely.”

Sansa can feel her breath puff out her lungs. This feels like a dream. 

“But you and Aunt Lyanna haven’t got swords Father.”

“I was buried with a sword Mikken made. Lyanna was buried with her tourney sword. Benjen gave it to me before he went off to the Wall.”

Sansa chanced a look at the other humans in the room and saw they had their mouths gaping open in shock at the spectral being that was Eddard Stark.  
There were more ghostly Lords and Kings gathering behind her father. They were dressed in fine furs and boiled leather. 

One man walked through the army of ghosts. He was tall, and bearded like Father. He had a hammer at his belt and a direwolf at his side. 

She had never seen his likeness carved into stone before. 

“Sansa of the House Stark, Queen of the Andals and of the First Men, Protectress of the North, of the Wilds, and of Skagos, I, Brandon the Builder, Founder of our House, do so swear allegiance to you. My life is yours to command Your Grace.” With a great roar, Bran the Builder knelt at Sansa’s feet. 

The ground shook as all of her ancestors who were buried here knelt with him.

“Our enemy is the age old enemy we have warned about for millenia. Winter is here. The Others have returned. You know what you must do!” yelled Sansa.

The army marched through the Ironwood door of the crypts, and Sansa had one thought. 

I’ve got to find Bran!


	2. Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks do cool things. There are direwolves. It's epic.
> 
> The castle might well be theirs, but never that godswood, not in a year, or ten, or fifty. - Tyrion Lannister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones. Please don't sue me.

The castle’s courtyard was littered with burning dead. Dirtied pockets of snow were shoved against the edges of crumbling stone walls. 

The first keep was now a mass of blackened grey rubble, near unrecognizable to that of her childhood. The ghosts of her ancestors crept beside her in the snows.

The gate to the Godswood was unlatched. Sansa sighed in relief. Her boots were scuffed and splattered with some brown liquid, she wasn’t sure if it was blood. 

The bitter cold made her scars ache. The thin lines criss crossing her back, the mottled colored skin on the inside of her thighs, the silvery moon pale scars on her wrists the width of a needle.

Sansa bared her teeth. So many scars. Yet all those that gave them to her were dead. Such a pity, she’d like to send them to greet the Stranger again.

Her grip tightened on the unsheathed knife, she slipped past the gate and into the wood.

The soldier pines and sentinel trees stood watch over the well worn path to the Heart Tree. Theon should be with Bran, she assured herself.

Arya and Jon were fighting the wights. Sansa tried to not let the bitterness cloud her throat at the thought of Jon.

She caught sight of a white shape flitting between the trees. It was Ghost! He’d come to her aid.

She was close enough now to see Theon taking down the wights, and her younger brother sitting in his wheeled chair. The Night King stood with his back to her. He batted Theon away like one might a pesky fly.

Her breath froze in her lungs when she heard something she hoped to never hear again.

Her brother’s direwolf lifted his head to the sky, and howled.

It was all Sansa could do to not take flight and run. The Night King screeched and wights skittered over the walls of the Godswood like giant spiders. They were surrounded.

Wolves seemed to materialize from the shadows. At their centre was a wolf even larger than ghost. It’s white and grey fur was stained red with blood. It ran towards Bran faster than she could blink.

A scream tore itself from Sansa’s throat before she could stop it. Her feet moved of their own accord towards Bran. The obsidian knife glinted in the moonlight.

Her last brother was standing in front of her, she wasn’t about to lose him too.

Letting loose a snarl, Sansa planted herself between Bran and the Night King. The strange wolf stood beside her, growling deep in its throat.

The Night King smiled. It’s grotesque face twisting, and she was reminded of Joffrey. Cruelty masked under false pretenses.

The knife struck the Night King’s furs and Sansa realized with horror that it was stuck. She kicked out with her foot, hitting his knee. 

Sansa’s elbow came crashing into the Other’s ugly teeth. She hoped he lost a few.

Black blood spilled over her gloves and onto her dress. She was knocked into the snow as the large wolf catapulted off her and onto the Night King.

He shoved the wolf off him, and turned towards Bran. There was nothing she could do now. Sansa watched helplessly as her brother sat in his chair, unable to move.

His eyes flicked back to their steady river blue instead of the unnatural white they were when he was warging.

“Now.” whispered Bran

The pack of wolves formed around them in a circle of bared fangs and snapping jaws. The Night King was trapped.

A loud cry came from above the Heart Tree. A form launched itself directly on top of the Other, right in the middle of the circle.

The Night King caught the person by the throat. Sansa started when she realized it was Arya. She felt bile rise in her throat, it splattered out onto the snow beside her.

Sansa remembered little of her life before King’s Landing, but a memory wrapped in haze and fog drifted to the forefront of her mind. Something any Stark would understand instantly.

“Arya! Ring his head like a bell!”

She could see understanding flit across her sister’s face. The valyrian steel dagger slipped from Arya’s hand and fell smoothly into her right palm. 

The dagger went smoothly into the creature’s heart. 

It let out a suprised gasp and staggered back against the heart tree. The wolves kept it pinned with snapping jaws and ferocious growls. Sansa was unsure of what to do, neither she nor Arya had weapons.

Then she caught sight of Jon. He was covered in blood and holding two flaming swords. 

The sea of wolves parted to let Jon in. The Night King stood still. He seemed to be frozen in shock. 

In one swift motion, Jon forced the Night King to his knees and brought both swords above his head. 

The Night King’s head rolled to the base of the heart tree, staining the snows like summer wine. It was a vivid red color, rather than the black goo that had coated her hands earlier.

His body just lay there in the snow, as though he were just another soldier and not their worst nightmare.

Sansa felt numb. It was over. All their enemies were dead. Except for Cersei. According to Arya, however, she’d be dead soon. 

Apparently her sister had called in a favor.


End file.
